


A Potion Is Just A Fancy Stew

by comebackjessica



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Detention, Don't Try This At Home, Everyone Is Gay, M/M, Making Out, Potions, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 15:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20245402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comebackjessica/pseuds/comebackjessica
Summary: “I think we’re lost,” Tommy said after a while.“Aye, most people are, I hear.”“No, Alfie,we’re pretty fucking lost,” Tommy snapped at him. “We passed that same statue half an hour ago.” He pointed towards a gargoyle in the corner.For the same reason Muggles turned off the radio in their cars when they realized they were lost, Alfie buttoned his shirt up and fixed his tie.





	A Potion Is Just A Fancy Stew

**Author's Note:**

  * For [When_Tommy_Met_Alfie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie/gifts).

> For entertainment purposes only.

_ ©Mad Books Publishing House, Ltd., 2019 _

Merlin’s honest truth, Alfie Solomons would have sold his grandma for an expired newt if it meant he got out of detention lily-white. This time, however, even though he got caught and was assigned a particularly dreary task of cleaning cauldrons after first years, he wasn’t even mad. This time, he got to spend detention with a housemate of an outstanding reputation – one of a professional conman, that is, in case you were getting any ideas. That specific Small Heath good-for-nothin’ Slytherin had managed to escape the consequences of his very own actions right until his last year of school. Now, that fine company just happened to be the only reason Alfie was not complaining right now; nay, almost looking forward to their little _ tête-à-tête _. For the first time in his life, Alfie was on time (for detention, alright, but who’s keeping score) and all ready for one Tommy Shelby to notice him.

To be perfectly honest, Alfie was somewhat a fan. Around their third year, Tommy got prescription glasses from a Muggle doctor and had to wear them for a whole semester before he got tired of John’s teasing and found a spell to fix his astigmatism once and for all. Alfie distinctly remembered that for two reasons: firstly, because he was conned out of his permit for the Restricted Section, and he rarely fell for anybody’s nonsense (unless that someone happened to be Tommy, that one was both trouble and handsome). Secondly, that beautiful moron had performed an unknown spell on himself. Which might have killed him but didn’t. Also, thirdly, alright, just for your information, Alfie had later found out that it wasn’t just any spell – it was a complex healing charm that not even seventh years could perform. That’s when Alfie decided that he was going to win Tommy over, whether the little genius liked it or not.

“Thomas.” Alfie greeted him with a cheeky smile, settling down on the cold dungeon floor and grabbing the dirty cauldron nearest to Tommy. 

“Alfred.” Tommy sneered and threw a pair of protective gloves at him. Fortunately, Professor Slughorn was gracious enough to let them use those during their detention.

“Fancy meeting you here, mate.” Alfie grabbed himself a brush and a bucket of lye bath. 

Tommy didn’t take the bait, instead he just shrugged and went back to scrubbing. Alfie, however, proved to be relentless:

“What ya in for, Tom?”

Tommy sighed exasperatedly and brushed his unruly locks of dark hair to the side. 

“I’m not going to discuss my life with you.”

“Why? Got somewhere to be?” Alfie gave him a shit-eating grin and stopped scrubbing just to fully take in the experience that was Thomas Shelby.

Tommy remained stubbornly silent for the next couple of minutes, that is until Alfie got bored and started humming. Now, one thing to say about the Hogwarts dungeons – they might be gloomy and scary (not entirely through fault of their own, it all began in 1679 after a curious Ravenclaw decided to transfigure a bat into a tiger with somebody else’s wand, but that would be a story for another day) but their acoustics were not great either. This is why, Tommy said to himself, when Alfie hummed, the sound of his deep, raspy voice was going straight through Tommy and all the way down to his… socks.

“Could you not?” Tommy hissed and threw his scrubbing brush right at him. Thankfully, Alfie grew up in a particularly dodgy orphanage for unruly boys and young delinquents, and his body knew exactly when to duck from flying objects.

“The fuck, Tommy?!” Alfie was doing his best to pretend he was outraged, though, he knew exactly what he did and was doing a very poor job at hiding his amusement. 

“Stop it,” Tommy barked and summoned the brush back with a quick Accio. 

“I’m bored,” Alfie sighed and dipped his own brush in the lye bucket. “But I do take requests.”

“Charming.” Tommy scowled at him viciously. “How about the Shut-The-Fuck-Up-Alfie song?”

“I don’t know that one.”

“Thank God for small mercies,” Tommy murmured and turned his back to Alfie. That, as it quickly turned out, proved to be a mistake since as soon as Tommy turned back to dip the brush in lye, Alfie chose that very moment to dip his as well. Their hands met and even though they were protected by a thick layer of protective gloves, it sent shivers down Tommy’s spine. 

“Fuck off,” he barked at Alfie and proceeded to scrub the cauldron with twice the effort. Alfie just sniggered and kept to himself throughout the rest of their detention. 

They had to, however, walk back to their Common Room together as soon as Slughorn deemed them free to go, and that was something that Tommy was not at all ready to do. Sitting with Alfie in a slimy dungeon and sometimes barking at him to shut the fuck up was one thing, but being completely alone in a dark corridor, with the whole castle sound asleep… That was something completely different. 

“Are you also this cold?” Tommy asked casually.

“Nah. Would’ve given ya my jacket like a gentleman, but all I have is the shirt,” Alfie said cheekily.

“Alright,” Tommy said, suddenly determined to teach that buffoon a lesson. 

“What?” Lesson learned. Alfie Solomons – positively dumbfounded. 

Tommy stopped and looked at him the way Pure Bloods must be looking at their house elves: brows raised, arms crossed and eyes unyielding. 

“You want my shirt?” Alfie laughed quietly. 

“You offered.”

They looked at each other in nearly complete darkness, lit only by a dim greenish glow of the mossy dungeon walls. 

“Fine,” Alfie said before taking off his tie and unbuttoning the shirt. “Go nuts.” He handed it to Tommy and had to stand there for a good minute with his hand outstretched since Tommy was currently very busy staring at his chest.

“And your shoes.”

“I ain’t giving ya my shoes, Thomas.”

“Then your pants.”

“Oh, fuck off!” Alfie put his shirt back on but this time did not really bother with the buttons. “What a ridiculous lad you are.”

If anyone saw them right now, they looked positively drunk (mostly Tommy, all wide-eyed and confused) and disheveled (mostly Alfie, since his shirt was open and his tie currently around his wrist).

“I think we’re lost,” Tommy said after a while.

“Aye, most people are, I hear.”

“No, Alfie, we’re _ pretty fucking lost, _” Tommy snapped at him. “We passed that same statue half an hour ago.” He pointed towards a gargoyle in the corner. 

For the same reason Muggles turned off the radio in their cars when they realized they were lost, Alfie buttoned his shirt up and fixed his tie. 

“Right, eh, how about we try and find the Potions classroom, then?”

Tommy nodded in agreement and pointed towards a particularly dark corridor.

“It’s that way.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure it’s the other way, mate.”

“I’m telling you,” Tommy hissed through his teeth. “We turned left last time and got right back where we started, so we have to go the other way now.”

“Right,” Alfie sighed, now pretty tired with the adventure. “So I’m gonna check the other corridor then, mate, and you can just–”

“Fuck you, you’re not leaving me!” Tommy practically dragged Alfie by his arm in the direction he deemed correct, and that, Alfie thought, was probably the story of how he basically let this one-hundred and fifty pounds waif drag his heavily muscled ass around Hogwarts because he had a goddamn crush.

They did finally reach the Potions classroom (yes, Tommy was right, though Alfie never said it out loud) and they managed to find their Common Room without getting lost again. They never spoke about the potential reason for them having wandered for so long. Personally, Tommy was certain it must have been the toxic fumes from the cauldrons, Alfie on the other hand was thoroughly convinced Tommy was obsessed with him as well.

Despite his best efforts (and even more subsequent failures) Alfie never managed to get Tommy alone during detention again, but he did get to spend one with John which nearly cost him his life and sanity. He finally grew a pair around winter holidays and decided to at least make some effort in telling Tommy he liked him. So he threw a snowball right at his face and then asked him out to Hogsmeade. Tommy had the audacity to decline and call Alfie an idiot. 

The opportunity finally presented itself when it turned out that Alfie wasn’t the only Slytherin staying at Hogwarts for Christmas. Granted, he confused Tommy with a pile of blankets when he wanted to curl up on the couch in the Common Room with his pulp novel, but there he was, no mistake – Thomas Shelby, hair unruly and pale blue eyes throwing daggers.

“I was napping, you oaf!” Tommy said and rolled back on his side, putting what looked like at least three blankets and a decorative pillow over his head. 

Alfie said nothing this time. Actually, this time he just waited. Wizard or not, he did grow up in Camden and children in Camden used common sense. Judging by the amounts of wool he was currently wrapped up in, Tommy would have to come up for air rather sooner than later.

“Oh, and one more thing, Solomons!”

Alfie didn’t let him finish. He was too drunk on eggnog and too happy to see him. He grabbed Tommy’s face (granted, spilling the eggnog all over the couch) and kissed him passionately. Tommy realized then and there that Alfie kissed exactly like he imagined he would. And by Merlin, he had spent most of his nights imagining. Alfie licked Tommy’s lips tentatively and pushed just a little until Tommy budged and let him in. After a while, Tommy had to tear himself away to clean the mess Alfie had made (of-fuckin’-course, Alfie thought) but had to resume his duties immediately after, since Alfie was generally as patient as the Bloody Baron.

“Well. Finally,” Tommy said when they tore away from each other, too tired and too breathless. He rested his head on Alfie’s chest, snuggling up against him. “You’re a decent kisser, Alfie.”

“Aye, fuck off.” Alfie pinched Tommy’s ribs and was rewarded with his wild yelp. “You and your fuckin’ potions, Tommy, not my fault yer a perfectionist.”

“A potion is the most complex form of magic, so you fuck off,” Tommy said snidely.

“A potion is just a fancy stew, Tommy.”

It was met with silence and for a while there Alfie thought he had offended him (though was rather hoping he didn’t, since the handjob he had just received under the blankets was something he could really get used to) but after some contemplation Tommy decided:

“I guess you’re right. Now kiss me again or I’ll hex you back to Camden.”

  



End file.
